


Dormancy

by Hermit9



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alec being a good leader, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And some therapy, BAMF Alec Lightwood, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Magnus only thinks he's cold and jaded, Pining, Protective!Catarina, They both need to use their words, Timeline What Timeline, Until it Doesn't, Wraiths burrowed from Supernatural, absolutely beta'd because I refuse to die. like men or otherwise, emotional denial, like yeets the canon quite early into the sun, returned only slightly damaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: Love used to be a weed that threatened to choke him. Now, it will never again be in the cards for him. Magnus absolutely, and with all the certainty of centuries, knows this. Until Alec Lightwood unknowingly waters his heart. It decides to grow. This is undeniably a problem, but both Alec and Magnus have to choose if it can bloom.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 32
Kudos: 89
Collections: Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020





	1. Chance Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020 hosted by the [Malec Discord Server](https://discord.gg/5nBgEp8)
> 
> Beta by the amazing [ValkyrieNyght](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyrieNyght)

The first time Magnus had seen Alexander Lightwood, it had been in an act of violence that was almost as wanton as it was precise. He shouldn't have been surprised, he knew the Shadowhunters were soldiers first and foremost. But he _was_ surprised nonetheless. There was something about the way he went to retrieve his arrow from a corpse dropped in the middle of a party that spoke of a casualness usually reserved for hardened murderers. Magnus would know, he’d had that ease for decades in fields of war. Not in a nightclub filled with mundanes, and no matter how skilled Magnus was at warping their perception, a dead body was still a dead body. At the very least it was a trip hazard.

The second time had surprised him in a different way altogether. He'd love to blame the Shadowhunters for leading Valentine's men straight to his lair and, by extension, his people. But that comforting notion had been taken away when the Nephilim mentioned Elias' death. Grief and mourning could come later, had to come later, when survival wasn't an all-encompassing need. 

The arrow whistled by him to hit the Circle member in the thigh. It wasn't a deadly shot but the pain served as a distraction nonetheless and allowed Magnus' next magical bolt to penetrate the Nephil's defence. The Circle member fell down, unconscious, soon to be dead. Magnus didn’t have it in him to care either way. One who collected warlock marks deserved a slower death if anything.

"Well done," said Alexander, lowering his bow. 

"More like medium rare," Magnus replied. The flippancy came easy. As did the flirting smile when he turned to face Alexander. There was no deadly grace then, no sharply honed weapon. Instead there was floundering and the hint of a blush. And when Alexander smiled it was the sun through the storm, lighting up the whole room. Magnus wanted to see more of that smile, more of the off-balance spark of happiness. And a lot of more what he could only guess under Alec’s clothes. 

He put a pin on that thought, called away to check on his people and on his duties. The ones who survived the attack limped out to other locations, to lick their wounds and mourn the dead. And then, because his evening had not gone to sufficient levels of Hell, Magnus had to deal with a major demon summoning. He felt bad for Biscuit. He should have told Jocelyn to stop years ago. That trauma and that hurt was on him as much as it was in her. 

The third time, he knew he was in trouble.

When he’d let the troupe of rebellious Shadowhunter youths out of his loft without obfuscating the location he’d meant it as a gesture of goodwill. Magnus was unsure if his goodwill extended to panicked knocks and the dragging in of mostly dead allies. 

Luke did look worse for wear, barely standing as Biscuit and her mundane friend propped him up. That they’d made it this far meant there was probably at least one of the Lightwood spawns involved. Magnus flicked his wards down, even as he threw a sheet over his couch. He could clean blood with a simple spell, but he didn’t know what else was weeping from that wound if it could affect a werewolf to that level. 

“What happened?” he asked.

“He was attacked!" Clary answered with overflowing panic. 

It was only by years of practice that Magnus held his tongue. He could see that much. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“Creepy thing? With like a giant needle-from-doom made out of cartilage and gunk coming out of its arm?” Simon’s description might have been panicked and spilling out of him too fast, but at least the mundane was observant. 

“A Wraith. That’s an issue. Their venom is extremely toxic to werewolves.” 

“But you can heal him right?” 

“Of course Biscuit, I know a potion that’s a great antidote…” Magnus stopped mid-sentence and walked into his apothecary, scanning at the shelves. Most people only saw chaos, but he saw severely depleted supplies from the combinations of his most recent clients. He grabbed a large piece of linden bark and walked back out to the living room. “I just need to brew it and he’ll be right as rain.” 

Magnus jammed the bark between Luke’s teeth with perhaps a bit more force than strictly required.

“He doesn’t look ok. What’s happening to him?” Clary was frantic, trying to hold on Luke and pace after Magnus all at once, ending in a strange quantum vibration stage.

“Random werewolf transformation,” Magnus answered, with the self-assured tone taught in the Spiral Labyrinth as being good for teachable moments. “Wraith venoms creates a psychotic break with reality. Werewolves always exist as both the wolf and the man, or woman, and when they enter this hallucinogenic state they—.”

“Forget what their bodies are?” Simon cut in, excited. “So he’s trying to shift but in the wrong order, like a jumbled up jigsaw puzzle.”

“Excellent deduction. We might make a Downworlder out of you yet, Mr. Lewis.” The comment was possibly too glib for the situation. In truth, Magnus wasn’t so sure he could counteract the venom in time, on top of compensating the appalling lack of basic first aid because Shadowhunters relied on their runes and wouldn’t know a field dressing if it bit them in the ass. What Magnus was sure of, however, was that he was not dealing with the political nightmare of having an ex-Shadowhunter, current-pack-Alpha, adoptive-father-to-a-Lightwood-ingenue die in his living room. He simply wasn’t going to, and so it wouldn’t happen. The question was how he was going to force this state of fact upon the rest of reality. 

“Help me get these clothes off him, we need to clean the wounds.” 

It was easier said than done, with the way Luke contorted from the venom. Magnus was decidedly impressed by the mundane. Simon pulled his weight, getting his hands dirty. There was something about him that was nagging the edges of Magnus' mind, something familiar. He made a mental note to investigate once he wasn't acting as a one-man emergency service.

Magnus picked through his apothecary, loading armfuls of supplies and a cauldron to move closer to the living room where he could keep an eye on his patient. Catarina should be answering his message in a few hours if her hospital shift didn't go into overtime. Luke was muttering, fever driven cries for Jocelyn and for Clary, barely conscious. A few hours was out of reach. 

“Magnus, he’s going to be fine, right? You said you knew the antidote?” 

“I do, Biscuit, I do. It’s just that…” he sighed as he turned to her. There was no way to hide the truth from her. “I don’t have all of the ingredients here.” 

“Just tell me what you need and how to get it,” Clary said.

The willingness to help was exemplary, but she barely knew enough about the Shadoworld to ensure she’d get killed by talking to the wrong person. Especially since there was bound to be more of Valentine’s men looking for her. 

“No, you stay here. Luke will need you if he wakes up.” His wards pinged on the ground floor with the inevitable arrival of the next guest of the night. Clary wouldn’t have been out of the Institute without at least one trained escort. There was no other ripple in the magic, no pursuant or threats. He did a quick calculation of the elevator’s speed and stepped out on the balcony to snip some of the herbs he needed.

“When. You mean when he wakes up.” 

Magnus didn’t answer. Lying was rude, for one. For another, his last uninvited guest had reached the loft’s entrance. 

“I’ll go,” Simon said at the same time as Jace. The Shadowhunter bore a scowl and a bloodied nose. 

Magnus flitted back toward the door to see if he was going to end up with two patients that night, grabbing Jace’s jaw to move his face in the light. No breaks, his breathing was unimpeded. His ego bore the worst of the blow. “What happened to you?” he asked before moving away. 

He listened as Jace described failing to park a car in the most tactical way and because he was magnanimous he did not laugh. The Seelie had their realm, the Vampires their speed and their issues with the sun. The Nephilims had no excuse to segregate themselves from the world as hard as they did, crippling their children by refusing to teach them skills they thought as beneath them. They’d never had to hide, to blend in, to grow enough humility to assimilate skills outside of their own.

It had _always_ been an issue, the isolationist nature of the Nephilims. It fueled their “us vs them” mentality as well as their blatant superiority complex, which seemed to be the whole point. The indoctrination and lack of external points of view ensured compliance, as they were sent out to die for their divine mandate. It also made for extremely fertile ground that would nourish festering ideas of eugenics and genocides. Valentines might have been twisted as one individual but he didn’t have to push very hard to rally _others_ to his talks of world cleansing. Even those now professing to repent from joining with him would not renounce _all_ of his ideals. The very fact that he had two standing willingly in his loft was nearly heretical. Magnus’ treacherous brain supplied a memory of a tall, dark-haired boy, with the brightest smile and stammering, flustered, introduction. _He_ hadn’t been repulsed by Magnus at all, had not sneered or tried to undermine him because of his heritage. If anything, Alexander had looked… friendly. Perhaps with openings for more? 

“What do you need for the antidote?” Jace asked, bringing Magnus’ attention back to the here and now. That was the advantage to the Shadowhunters’ martial society he guessed. They fell easily into chains of commands and didn’t let themselves drift away from the immediate danger..

“Phoenix eyes, moon salt and Idris fulgite,” Magnus replied before Simon could get into a fight with Jace. Bravery is one thing. But the resulting broken bones wouldn’t be worth it. 

“I know a guy,” Jace answered, already moving towards the door. 

“Oh, and I need Alexander,” Magnus added. He didn’t, not really. Clary was already there as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He wanted Alexander there and since he knew he’d never see payment for his work, not at his full rate, he figured he could have that slice of selfishness. He was _curious_ and had wanted to get a chance at seeing more of the young man, without the battle haze and the recently dead to contend with. But it wasn’t as if Alexander made a habit of being present in times and places that were appropriate for proper flirting.

Not that he expected Jace to agree, especially with the clearly made up reason he gave for the request. Seeing him flustered was a reward enough. 

Magnus split his focus between brewing the base for the antidote, answering Clary's questions about the past he'd been compliant in taking from her and keeping an eye on the rapidly deteriorating situation with Luke. The transformations might have been stopped, but he could feel the venom clawing its way through Luke. The physical wounds could be healed but the psychic damage was threatening to be permanent. 

"Give me some room, Biscuit."

"Sure. What are you doing? What's happening to him?"

Magnus settled on the floor in a comfortable kneeling position. He slowly reached out with his magic, infusing it into Luke at a controlled rate. He had to be careful, slipping in the small space between the wolf, the man, and the wreckage of the wraith.

"What are you doing?"

"The magical equivalent of a medical coma would probably be the best description. I am trying to isolate his mind from the venom."

"Why didn't you do that sooner?"

"Because I can't do it for very long. And it’s not a permanent cure, more like life support." The fact that he could probably handle the drain for longer than most he left unsaid. It was their luck that the only warlock they apparently knew or dealt with in a civilized manner was himself and not one of the younger, weaker, kids. Warlocks, he corrected himself. They hated when he called them kids. 

Luke muttered, muted now as Magnus forced him unconscious. 

“Magnus?”

“Yes, Biscuit?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Because you were a scared little thing the first time your mother brought you to me and it made you laugh. And I never wanted to be one more thing for you to fear.”

“Did Luke know?”

“Of course he did.” 

“Oh,” Clary said, subdued. Whatever conclusion she reached with that information she kept for herself.

He lost a sense of time, stretched thin by the spell he couldn’t stop now that he’d started. Sweat ran down his spine and made his makeup itch. When the front door opened he barely registered the wards’ ping of Shadowhunters runes. He looked up expecting Jace, worried about the absence of a secondary mundane ping. And looked straight into Alexander’s eyes, brows furrowed with worry. Magnus was too far gone to make any comment about how he looked exactly like a man that had run all the way across the city because he’d asked for him. 

He leaned against the bracing arm of Alexander just to enjoy the relief the contact brought. “I need your strength” 

There was hesitation, for a few seconds. Magnus braced for the rejection.

"Take what you need," Alexander said with a nod. 

The words themselves were unexpected, and paled behind what followed. Alexander grabbed his hand and, with a deep breath, pushed. The jolt was instantaneous. It was lightning, coursing through Magnus with the aftertaste of ozone. Like catching a hurricane with a butterfly net and holding on for dear life. And it didn't stop. Alexander left himself open and unguarded, from his blood to his mind and his heart. If he had been inclined Magnus could have taken _everything_ from him in that moment. Beyond the power, the sheer display of trust was intoxicating. 

He certainly took enough to hold until Clary could force the antidote down Luke's throat. Cutting the connection made him sag, spent. He curled into Alexander's hold, exhaustion making him soft and tactile. 

"Are you ok?"

Magnus nodded and smiled. He was better than alright. He felt a little bit high, flying on endorphins, on magical exhaustion, on being buoyed by so much angelic magic it made his skin tingle and break into goosebumps. If he was still the kind of man he had been nearly a century ago, maybe he’d also be riding out some other pleasurable waves. Magnus had never thought he’d miss it, the vulnerable thrill that was from more than the chase. That he’d miss emotions in the broad sense of things, and the sweet torture of thinking he could, perhaps, grow to love someone. That option had been ripped out of him by the root, Camille had seen to that, but somehow the wishful thinking remained. What if…

And if later that night his throat itched, it was nothing but the burn of the alcohol. Nothing at all.


	2. A wraith in the night

_> >> We found the wraith's nest. Do you want to join us?_

_< << A Shadowhunter inviting a Downworlder on a hunt?_

_> >> Luke bowed out. Figured you deserved a chance to avenge your couch._

Magnus started at his phone until the screen blinked off. When he'd given a rather frazzled Alexander his number Magnus had definite hopes of limiting the number of panicked knocks on his door and half-formed plans of flirty texts. He hadn't hoped for more. Leaving him blown away. Alexander had taken to texting him, seemingly at random. Observations during the day, a few cityscapes while he was running on patrol. Even a joke or two. He had a dry wit and a sharp mind that shone even under the yoke of his parent’s indoctrination. 

In a word, Alexander was _interesting_. If the parts of Magnus that could seek and enjoy relationships — that could _feel_ in any real sense — hadn’t been torn and excised away years ago he might have sought for more. But the slow stalking approach, savouring the chase, would have to do. He could even settle for friendship, if it came to that. 

_< << I would be my genuine pleasure. _

Magnus put the phone down and absolutely did not smirk at the immediacy of the vibrations telling him where to go. He has to make himself battle presentable, no use in making the Shadowhunter believe he was weak or fragile. Leather then, to match their own aesthetics. And silver, because wraiths were tricky and he wasn’t an idiot. 

The nest was hidden in what used to be a mechanics shop. There was nothing left that could be of use to create or repair now, only metallic skeletons and skeins of rope. Apparently some of the wraiths liked to eat in. Magnus frowned. How many mundane had shown up as unexplained death, brains dried into desiccated sponges. Wraiths didn’t eat flesh, they drank their victims minds via cerebral cortexes. It was rare to see them so… settled. Feeling so confident that the local enforcers, from any of the main factions, were too embroiled in their own webs to bother rooting them out. 

The locked door was no match for an angelic rune, though nothing helps the grating rusted howl of the hinges. The discoloration on those was recent and deliberate. Magnus was forced to acknowledge that while crude and artless it was effective. The Shadowhunters froze, their enhanced senses glinting on their skin. Magnus could have told them not to bother: if anyone had been there the sound would have roused them into either fight or flight. He chose to keep quiet. There was something thrilling, almost forbidden, about being so integrated into a Nephilim patrol. Jace and Isabelle took point, stepping into the building as silent as cats. Alec followed, bow in hand with an arrow notched but seemingly relaxed and at ease as he covered his siblings' advance. It did wonders for his shoulders, under the leather jacket. 

They had swept the main workspace and most of the back offices when the garage door rumbled to life on a motor that should have been junked two breakdowns ago. Alec cursed and gestured with his head at Jace to swap positions. Magnus was glad to squeeze into a doorframe and let them pass. There was a car entering the garage. Its headlights were too bright in the blind space, sending shadows in odd angles until the rattle of the motor stopped. For a few seconds, there is nothing but the high pitch knocking of metal cooling. 

Two of the car doors opened and with some wiggling three occupants stepped out. Two women and a man, dressed in the non-descript uniforms of harmless mundanes: jeans and t-shirts with some clever puns silk printed upon them. They moved with confidence in the darkness, for it posed no more of a threat to them as to Magnus’ cat eyes. The man walked around the car to open the trunk. There was a muffled moan that might have been a plea. One of the women walked toward the hallway they huddled in. The third seemed to notice the open side-door. 

Several things happen before she can scream a warning. 

The first is that Jace draws his seraph blade, the angelic glow cold and lethal in his hand before it was muted with blood as he slashes the throat of the wraith closest to him. The second was Alexander drawing back and releasing the string on his bow. The arrow sailed through two of the rope skeins and buried deep into the wraith’s heart. Showing off. Magnus approved.

The third was that the male wraith howled and dragged a confused mundane from the trunk of the car, using him as a shield as he retreated towards the still open garage door. The human shrieked in fear, adding to the cacophony. 

“You don’t want to do that,” Jace said. He was holding his blade in front of himself horizontally and taking small steps towards the wraith.

“Screw you,” answered the wraith. “You killed my sister and my mate. I’m supposed to think you’ll let me go?” He spat on the ground, over the hostage’s shoulder. “No, I think I’ll have my last meal and then tear your throat, Shadowhunter.” 

A translucent milky spike emerged from his wrist. It was made of bone and cartilage, hollow, and incredibly sharp. The wraith moved to stab it through the soft hollow behind the man’s ear but the movement stopped short. Izzy’s whip was twined around his arm and she pulled sharply to throw the wraith off balance. He turned to face her, throwing the human at Jace. Unfortunately for him, that left his back wide open for Alexander. The wraith fell down with a hiss and a gurgle as the adamas burnt a path through its sternum.

“Nice shot, Hermano,” Izzy said in a cheerful way. She stepped over the corpse carefully, mindful of her shoes.

“What the fuck,” the mundane said, having spat out the makeshift gag. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the absolutely almighty FUCK??” 

“You’re ok, relax,” Jace said, in what was probably meant as a reassuring tone.

“Ok? Hawkeye over there just killed this guy. Who was going to kill me, fine, ok, thanks I guess. But how do I know you’re not gonna kill me now? I’ve seen your faces, you’re not exactly hiding. What the hell is going on here anyway? Serial killers Darwinism?”

“Great. It talks as much as the one that follows Clary around,” Alec said from the back of the room. His bow was gone, however, glamoured away. He looked at Magnus with a small shrug, almost contrite. “Can you take care of it?” 

Magnus rolled his eyes for the benefit of the audience and summoned his magic to his hands, making the snap of his fingers echo. He didn’t particularly enjoy spells that relied on mind control and manipulation. That was a dark and slippery road he had no intention of walking down. Some lines were only hard to cross the first time and the boundaries grew hazy with use. Still, the man grew silent. His eyes were vacant and he swayed in place a bit, like a puppet from strings in the faint night breeze. 

“Thank you,” Alexander said.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t remember anything and is returned safely to where he belongs.”

“Yeah, we know you’re good at that.”

Alexander punched his brother on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. “Jace, shut up.” 

“Come on you too. No fighting.” Izzy shook her head, holding to the door frame. “We have paperwork to fill out.” 

The boys grumbled and followed her. Magnus groaned as he looked at the corpses left behind and the entranced victim. Of course they would leave the clean-up to him. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

_> >> I owe you a favour. Thank you for the rescue detail._

Well. That wasn’t so bad. He’d done worse for less. Magnus opened a portal to an out of the way, active, volcano and moved the remains through. They sizzled as they hit the lava and dissolved in clouds of sulfuric smoke. The smell of it seized Magnus’ lungs, making him cough and cough and cough. He took a deep breath to settle himself, blinking at the long, slender, lily petals on his sleeve. They were stunning, with a gradient going from dark purple to fiery red to a bright yellow. That was strange. The lava should have made the surroundings of the crater too hot for flowers to bloom, and even if it hadn't…. lilies were not native to that part of the world. His magic swarmed, unbidden, turning them into specks of silver, barely more than glitter. 


	3. Time for a trial

He had three days to keep himself busy and force his mind to think of literally anything other than how the calluses on Alexander’s fingers would feel on his skin. There was plenty to keep him occupied. The Shadoworld was buzzing with gossip and worry. There was a slow attack on the City, not just the occasional demon incursions but something more directed. The warlocks felt it through the ley lines, the vampire clans through their mundane connections. There was a noted absence of further Circle members in his club, thank the stars for small blessings.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when a delegation of Seelies knocked at his door. 

“Kailen," Magnus said, "my door is open to you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The Seelie knight bowed his head and walked through the door. The rest of the delegation waited outside, their backs to the walls. They had enough glamour up that Magnus didn't worry about any of her neighbours or clients seeing them. But it was unusual for Seelie to feel the need to guard a meeting so ostentatiously.

“We come seeking assistance, High Warlock.” The formality was a warning.

“It is rare for your people to involve outsiders, Kailen. What is it that you require?”

“You know, of course, of the attack on the Institute?” A pause. Magnus had not known and Kailen could read so on his face before he schooled his features into a mildly curious detachment. “The knight Meliorn has been accused by the Shadowhunters as being complicit in this attack and they seek to put him on trial for treason.” 

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Indeed. We seek your expertise in examining the creature that was able to breach the Institute’s wards and to testify of your findings at this trial.”

“Why ask me?”

“Is there another Downworlder the Lightwoods might listen to? The Clave as a whole is blinded by their prejudice, but there have been… positive recent developments. Or so we’ve been told.” 

Magnus glanced at his phone, where there was an absence of messages. In fact, he hadn’t heard from Alexander for days now. 

He tried to tell himself that it was fine, that it didn’t matter... That he didn’t miss it, wasn’t hurt by the sudden lack of communication and the wall that had fallen between him and Alexander. Magnus was keenly aware that the very fact that he was having this conversation with himself was proof of the contrary.

“I will see what I can find, Kailen.”

“The Queen will reward you, for your services.” The Seelie knight bowed and walked out before Magnus could think to negotiate his fee. 

Magnus took his time getting ready, styling his hair three different ways before settling on something that was good enough. Half of his wardrobe ended up tossed on the bed. He settled on the green silk. It was flamboyant without being reckless, tempered by the almost subdued vest. It was still definitely enough to bother the paramilitary aesthetics of the Institute. 

The fact that the Institute had a passable morgue wasn’t anything new. Afterall they lost soldiers often enough to keep the preparation of the dead in-house. Permanent portals to Idris should have been the solution but the Clave that resided in Alicante was against turning the city into a mortuary. As if there was shame in honouring their dead. 

“Magnus, thank the Angel you’re here,” Isabelle whispered as he finished putting on the gloves and face shield that protocol demanded. She looked tired and while her makeup had been retouched to flawlessness her eyes were too red and betrayed recent tears. 

“I wouldn’t thank me yet. I am here to prove you wrong, after all.”

“I’m not wrong. This thing does have Seelie blood,” she said a bit petulantly before grabbing his arm. “Meliorn didn’t do this. I know this, you know this. The Clave is blinded by the answer they want to hear, they used my findings to confirm the conclusion that suited them.”

“Well. We’ll have to hope their bigoted biases can be shaken.” Magnus dropped his voice. “Sadly, there is much historic precedent to prove me wrong.” 

“No kidding,” Isabelle said. Then, with a sharp nod, she turned to leave and he was alone with the dead.

The Forsaken was mangled. There was no other word for it. Both from the fight that brought it down and from the transformation itself. Magnus took a deep breath and let his magic flow into the corpse, feeling, poking, _tasting_ what was left behind. There was a considerable amount of pain echoing in the flesh, almost blinding in its excruciating state. He pushed past it, no stranger to pain and the methods of having it inflicted.

Beyond the pain was, for lack of a better word, muscle memory. Of fighting and sparring. Exquisite training. The kind of training no mortal underwent, the kind that required dedicating your life to militaristic excellence that left very little space for aspiration of being anything other than a martyr. He snapped his magic up, closer to the surface, until it almost shone through. There were marks along the grey skin. Scars left behind by runes. No mundane would have survived the application of this many angelic runes, let alone learned how to use them and trained with them. Magnus hummed, disturbed. He wondered if the man had been a willing sacrifice, or coerced into becoming a forsaken? Both options were equally distasteful but the first held inherently more danger. If Valentine had followers that were this fanatical, this _zealous_ , what other nightmare was he preparing for the Downworld? 

Alexander was in the training room by the time Magnus finished writing his preliminary report. He was punching the bag far more viciously than mere exercise warranted. It was unclear if he was punishing the equipment or himself. The sheen of sweat did wonderful things to Alec’s shoulders. And Alec’s abs. And really, to the entire package.

He must have made a noise, of admiration or otherwise, because Alexander slowed the bag and turned to face him. 

"Are you ok?" Alexander stilled the bag, looking at Magnus with a slight frown. He was worried.

"Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You sound different. Like a whistle, or wheezing.” He paused. “Or like me after Jace cheats and goes for the solar plexus.” 

“A cold, nothing to worry about."

"I thought warlocks were immune to mundane diseases."

“Really? What _do_ Shadowhunters know of warlocks?” 

“Not enough, but I’d love to fix that.” Alexander smiled, a true smile, showing how he meant those words for Magnus and for Magnus alone. 

A coughing fit overtook Magnus. It stole his breath and made his eyes water. When it receded a few what looked like a mangled lily flower was in his hand, gradient petals and bright orange stems, sat in his hand, accusingly. His magic sublimated the flower into glitter, distributing it along the sweep of his hair.

“You really should get that looked into. Maybe get some rest?”

“I was going to say the same thing.” Magnus pointed to the bandaged wound on Alec’s arm. “That wound was made by the Forsaken, correct? It is going to be resistant to runic magic, but I could take a look? Free of charge.” 

Alec hesitated, scanning to make sure there was no one else watching them before nodding. Magnus closed the distance between them, forcefully willing himself to focus and ignore how utterly shirtless Alexander was, and how the sweat had started to cool on his skin where the skin was pebbling into goosebumps. He unwrapped the bandage as slowly as he could and hissed at the angry wound he found. The cut was indeed fighting the healing rune, some of its edges red and raw while other parts were dry and looked almost necrotic. Nasty stuff.

Magnus snapped his fingers and set to flush the wound as best he could. There was a resistance, a high pitched hissing whistle that was surely the translation of a not-insignificant amount of pain. Yet Alexander did not flinch away from the touch.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what? Not wanting you to lose your arm?”

Alexander shook his head. “For Meliorn. I know the charges are bogus but I haven’t had time to talk Lydia out of it. She’s under a lot of pressure from the Clave, as an understudy to Inquisitor Herondale.”

“Well. I have my preliminary findings, should you want to present them for her to look over. Maybe head this whole farce off before it becomes a very public humiliation and a PR nightmare.”

“These should be handed to the Head of the Institute.” There was a resigned anger in the words. Something that had been bothering Alexander for some time. 

“And that is precisely what I am doing, is it not?” Magnus asked gently, looking up to meet — and trying not to get lost into — Alec’s eyes. 

“Not yet.”

“That’s the spirit.” Magnus took a step back, trying to break some of the tension. As delicious as it was, this was neither the time nor the place to indulge. 

“My full report is in the file, but the short version is that Isabelle was mostly right. What allowed the Forsaken to go through the wards was indeed Seelie’s blood. But it was neither freely given nor taken from a living host. It was warped by death before being injected into a _Shadowhunter_.” 

“A… I thought Forsakens were mundanes, before being twisted.”

“Historically yes. However, we both know there is one who experimented extensively on your people, Alexander.”

“The Circle.” 

“I meant Valentine, in particular.” Magnus tilted his head. He’d thought the story of the uprising and its source was well known by the Shadowhunters. Biscuit not knowing made sense, he’d been complicit in the robbery of her identity in this world. But it was very strange that a _Lightwood_ would remain so ignorant. Almost as if he had been sheltered, or if this history had been willingly hidden and buried. 

A noise on the threshold of the room made Alec all but jump back, his movements tense and jerky. It was a far cry from the relaxed, almost intimate, slouch he’d settled in as they spoke. Hodge stood by the door with a small apologetic smile.

“Ms Branwell was asking about the warlock’s finding. For counter examination.”

“Of course. I will be out of your hair. I need to deliver my findings to the Seelie as well. Never fear, your copy is scrupulously complete. But if something needs to be clarified for your comprehension, you know how to reach me.” 

Alec had turned his back to him, pulling a shirt over his head. He didn’t answer, merely ducking his head to hide the hint of a blush reaching his ears. 

“Thank you, Mr Bane,” Hodge said in a tone that indicated that while he’d rather not be rude about it, it was indeed a dismissal.

Seeing as Alec didn’t seem inclined to contradict his tutor, Magnus nodded. He did need to talk to Kailen, and attend to his own business. 


	4. Pandemonium

Pandemonium’s policies were always _almost_ open doors. It welcomed mundanes on most nights, under the same protection as was afforded to the Downworlders. Here they were not to be harmed, charmed, fed upon or otherwise interfered with. It did allow for a more pleasant overall crowd, compared to some of the other Downworld clubs in the city. The mundanes were fireflies, burning twice as bright for their short lives compared with the immortals dancing next to them. They also acted as a lifeline to keep the oldest in touch with the world as it morphed and changed around them. The cohabitation, even as one-sided as it was in knowledge, was healthy.

On other nights, the club was closed for “private events”. Nights where warlocks could have their marks free from glamour, where vampires could talk openly about supply chains, and wolves could lose themselves to the music without fear for their dance partners. 

Tonight was a Downworld night, but the music was low and tinted with jazz. It encouraged people to gather in groups and chat, letting their guard down as if they weren’t in the middle of yet another pointless war. The night was young and the club was sparsely populated. That suited Magnus just fine. He was dressed up, appearances to hold up whilst holding court, in tapered trousers and an open shirt that displayed chains and finely milled body glitter. Maybe he’d dance, later, when the music picked up. Or maybe not. The idea of dancing alone — or worse with any of the usual suspects — left a sour taste in his mouth.

Magnus had retreated to the VIP area, his area. Where no one would come and bother him, save those he explicitly invited. It’d been far too long since he’d caught up with Dorothy. She’d wrapped herself into the pretense of mundanity for so long, helping Jocelyn hide her daughter. Winning them maybe a few years, in the grand scheme of things. Catarina being able to join them was a rare delight. 

“ I wish I could have seen their faces,” Dot said. She sat unto one of the couches across from Magnus, with her back turned to the dance floor.

“See whose faces?” Magnus looked up from his tablet. Magic was all well and good but it didn’t keep books balanced and spreadsheets were a wonderful thing. 

“The _Shadowhunters_ ,” Dot said with a grin. “When Meliorn was released with formal apologies by the current high ranking officers, in front of the Seelie delegation.” 

“When who was what?” Magnus put the tablet aside. There were no numbers that could hold his attention after that.

“You didn’t hear?” Catarina raised an eyebrow from the other couch. She had her feet up, sprawling to take the entire space. She’d had two double shifts back to back at the hospital and her feet had to be killing her. When Magnus shook his head minutely she hummed in a deep pensive way. 

“Ooh, I get to teach _you_ something?” Dot giggled. The glass she was holding was her fourth if Magnus had kept track, maybe fifth. She knew how to take care of herself and her tolerance rivalled his own, but she was clearly feeling the effects. “The word on the street is that the Clave wanted to move Meliorn to the City of Bones after reviewing the evidence provided by the defence.” Both Dot and Cat gave Magnus a pointed look. “But some of their ranks argued against it and went to lead a further investigation. They found the corpses of the two missing Seelie scouts and brought them back for proper mourning.” 

“What had happened to them, the scouts?” 

“Killed by Valentine, or someone working for him,” Cat interjected. “They’d been worked over, in a medical sense.” 

“And these rogue Shadowhunters just…located them?”

Dot giggled. “Well. There might have been the need for a portal or two and I _am_ Clary’s favourite almost-aunt... I am surprised Alec didn’t tell you, Magnus.”

“Why in the world would he tell me what clandestine activities occupy his nights?” There was maybe more bitterness in the sentence than really needed to be there. It pulled against Magnus’ ribs like sore tendons and spent muscles. His breath rattled, making Magnus itch to clear his throat. On the one hand, Alexander hadn’t told him of a mission against the Circle, against Clave orders. On the other, there was no doubt that he’d spear-headed something that had been bold, brave, and to the exclusive benefit of a Downworlder. Catarina turned to him and raised an eyebrow. Maybe questioning the tone, or the aborted cough. Or the blush his glamour was too otherwise busy to hide properly.

A commotion near the door provided a welcomed distraction. Magnus looked up to identify the issue and waved at the guards to let Raphael through. He hadn’t expected him tonight, but his company was always welcome at his side. In truth he’d seen little of his quasi-adoptive son since he’d taken over the role of Clan leader. 

"You could have warned me about the raid planned against the Du Mort," Raphael said when he reached them, instead of any proper or civil greeting. He crossed his arms in a particularly defiant and almost petulant stance. 

Magnus frowned. It wasn’t like Raphael to be caustic for no reason. Nor was it his habit to cross Pandemonium, and possibly the distance between the Hotel and the club, in his full Vampire speed. “There was a raid? On what grounds?” 

“I was hoping you’d already know. For someone who has spent decades lecturing me about the _‘evils of getting entwined with Shadowhunters’_ business you’re the one making friends with them.” Raphael was angry at more than one person. But not really at Magnus himself, that much was evident from the lack of bite in his words and the way he wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was trying to protect Magnus from something. The lie of omission might have worked on someone else.

“I have not heard from _any_ of the Nephilim in several days,” Magnus answered. He hadn’t expected to hear from Clary, not when she tended to go to her father when she needed counsel. The silence from Alexander had been hurtful and cold, but he’d thought it was due to the upcoming trial. Apparently he’d been mistaken. 

“Are you alright?” Catarina asked, and Magnus had to agree it was the only question that mattered.

“I’m unharmed,” Raphael muttered. “I’d have appreciated some warning before my clan was put in danger. I can’t protect them from a threat I don’t see coming.”

“You know what, I’ll bite,” Dot said. “Why don’t we ask tall, dark and broody directly? Are they still at the Du Mort” 

“No. They left for the Institute. I came here after they were gone,” Raphael answered at the same time as both Magnus and Cat made a move to grab Dot. 

For someone this inebriated, she was fast. The portal she conjured beneath her was lopsided and wobbled for a moment before rising to wink her away, leaving the couch and her drink undisturbed. 

“That was probably unwise,” Raphael remarked to no one in particular.

“You think?” Cat answered with the rise of an eyebrow. She got to her feet with a long-suffering sigh. Catarina’s magical specialty might have been in the healing arts, but she was old enough to know better than to ignore when someone went ahead with a barely thought-through plan to kidnap one of the Shadowhunters local _leaders and Acting Head of Institute_. 

A minute later a new portal formed, letting through two people this time. One being Dot, who managed to look at once like the cat who got the cream, fuzzy-happy drunk, and oddly cold in the way she squinted her eyes. The second was Alexander. His hair in even bigger disarray then normal, standing at odd angles like he’d been running his hand through recently. Alexander with his eyes wide, scanning the room quickly but locking on Magnus’ own, wide, surprised, with dark circles underneath that betrayed many sleepless days. 

Magnus’ stomach did an unauthorized little flip, at the sight. 

“What. The. Hell?” Alexander asked no one in particular.

“That was my question,” Raphael said.

“And I said we should ask you!” Dot let herself fall back on her couch, frowning at her empty glass. To Magnus’ relief she didn’t refill it. “So, tell us! Why was tonight a good night to go rouse the undead?”

“She’s in rare form,” Magnus whispered to Catarina. He caught the amused shift in Raphael and he nodded. At least there had been no offence taken. 

“First of all, I have a phone. You could have called me, instead of dragging me off in front of the whole Institute.” A sharp look stopped Dot’s incoming sarcastic and mocking reply. Alexander was very good at reading people when he wanted to. “Second of all, I think that description is a little harsh.”

“Harsh? When you walked an entire squad through my door and ransacked my clan’s sanctuary?” 

“Was anything broken? Did any of your artifacts and keepsakes go missing?” Raphael shook his head and Alexander only grew more confident, his voice rising with every word. “Were any of the Shadowhunters that came out with me rude in any way to _any_ of your people? If so give me their name, I’ll see to it that they’re disciplined”

“Alright, alright,” Magnus intervened, stepping in the middle of the brewing confrontation. “Your men were on their best behaviour I am sure. But—” He paused and raised a finger. “—you didn’t answer the core of the question.”

Alexander sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. It’s about Simon.” 

Raphael let out a string of explicit curses in Spanish under his breath.

“Yeah, precisely.” 

“I am afraid I fail to follow, Alexander. Can you enlighten me? What’s happening to Biscuit’s friend?”

“Can we… talk about this elsewhere?” He shuffled, uncomfortable. “Somewhere less public?” 

Magnus raised an eyebrow and snapped his fingers, opening a portal to his loft. “Would my lair do?”

“That’d be great, thank you.” Alexander walked through the portal without any visible hesitation. 

“He seems most comfortable doing that,” Raphael noted before following. 

Both Cat and Dot didn’t say anything, raising eloquent eyebrows instead. Magnus shook his head once he was the last one standing. “Not nearly enough, but no one asks me.” 

The ladies had claimed the couches without any impunity — and Raphael was reaching for the blood supply Magnus kept for him — by the time Magnus stepped through and let the portal fizzle behind him. Alexander was standing in the middle of the room, hands locked behind his back in parade rest. Standing in his official capacity.

“So, Simon,” Magnus said. He let the rest of the sentence hang, unasked. 

“A week ago we received an anonymous tip about a mundane being turned into a vampire without a writ of consent,” Alexander began. His cadence was clipped, reporting facts as objectively as he could and without even a gram of sugar coating. “I took lead on the investigation because it came right on the heels of the Meliorn case and I wanted to make sure we had all the facts before making the accusation.” 

“Who was being accused?” Catarina sat forward, interested. 

“Raphael Santiago. On the surface of the accusation it seemed probable. When Simon was rescued from the Du Mort after having been kidnapped, Raphael was the only one seen with him and certainly the last one with contact.”

“And Wayland would have to vouch for that,” Raphael said. “Even if I did nothing but try to save the kid’s scrawny neck.” 

“Yes. However the timing of the tip, the level of detail… None of it felt right. Especially not once I figured out who was the whistleblower.”

“Camille.” Everyone in the room said at once. 

Alexander nodded. “Yes. It got me thinking—”

“That _bitch_!” Catarina interrupted. “She framed the clan for a breach of the Accords?”

“She certainly tried. But I don’t think it was about the clan as much as it was about _you_.” He fixed Magnus with those eyes that showed far too much of his inner fire. “She was trying to hurt you, by hurting your family.” 

“So you came tonight to the Du Mort?” Raphael asked, a whole lot calmer than he had been. 

“Looking for proof to clear your name. Simon gave us a blood sample for the asking so we were looking for DNA links to whoever his Sire was.”

“So Simon did get turned?” Catarina interjected.

“From what we can tell? Partially? He’s having symptoms that would match it. I’ve sent word to Alicante to see if it can be reversed.” 

“It can’t,” Raphael said with sadness.

“I was afraid of that. He’ll need help then, for what’s to come. He deserves to have a choice.” 

“In all of that… why did you not tell any of us sooner, Alexander?”

“Would you have believed me that I meant Raphael no harm? Would Raphael have believed that I didn’t mean harm to his Clan, despite being _who I am_?” Alexander shook his head, staring at the ground. “I know what it’s like, to protect your family. What that drive is. And I didn’t want to hurt you that way, to make you believe you had to… pick a side? Not for a Shadowhunter. Not after the horrors that the Clave committed against your people. All of your peoples.” 

“You really, didn’t, did you..” Magnus mused. In over four hundred years — give or take a decade here and there — he’d developed a good read on people and whether they were being truthful. And he would have sworn that Alexander hadn’t lied in anything he’d said tonight. He really was that most rare of things: a Shadowhunter willing to put himself in harm’s way because it was the right thing to do for the Downworld at large. And for Magnus in particular. 

Magnus came to two realizations at that moment. One was that parts of himself that he’d thought dead and shrivelled in the aftermath of all that had happened with Camille were not so desiccated. The sudden rush of emotion was like a dam breaking, seeping into every corner of his mind with a mix of pain and relief. The second was that, despite his best efforts, he was absolutely and probably _irremediably_ falling for a Shadowhunter. 

He took a deep breath, pulling in more and more air that refused to feel like it contained any oxygen, trying to find words to answer that would allow him the illusion of maintained dignity but was interrupted by Dorothy.

“Sure, you didn’t want to hurt some Downworlders. I’m sure it had nothing to do with wanting to avoid a second public humiliation for your betrothed.”

Magnus stopped, sudden chill radiating from every single one of his nerves. “His _what_?”

“Gossip mill has it that Mr. Lightwood here is to be wedded to one Miss Lydia Branwell. Sooner rather than later.”

“The prosecutor?” Raphael asked and bless him for doing that because Magnus had lost all capacity for speech.

“The very one! Very political choice, from my understanding.”

Alexander stood there silent, eyes even wider than usual so that the whites showed around them, eyebrows raised. There was no denial coming from him, no alternative explanation.

There was no air. Not in the entire city and certainly not in the room. Magnus braced himself against the back of a chair and started coughing in heaves, trying to get some oxygen. His lungs and throats were scratchy and felt stuffed, were stuffed, filling with foreign material that his body was trying to expunge with the energy of despair. Tears gathered across his eyes, blurring the world behind the immediate threat of not being able to breathe. He was grateful for it. 

Catarina’s magic echoed across the loft in a thunderclap, rumbling inside his bones long after it was gone. She’d wiped Dot’s intoxication, frozen both Raphael and Alexander where they stood. More importantly, she’d touched _him_ , reached past defences more autonomic than conscious and knew now what ailed him. 

His airway opened, his throat relaxed. Just enough to allow him to spit up a wad of petals, stained with mucus and streaks of blood as they landed into his palm.

“Magnus Bane, you stubborn _ass_. How long has this been going on?” Catarina’s hand landed on his chest, lightly but with intent. Feeling his breath. 

Magnus shrugged. “I… am not quite sure. More than a day, less than a year?”

“You wouldn’t make it a year, you idiot.” There was fondness beneath the insult. Warmth from her hand. “Sleep now Magnus. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Don’t… don’t make me go cold again?”

“You know I can’t promise you that. And I won’t let you make a liar out of me.” 


	5. A medical history

Alec blinked and everything was wrong. He was no longer in Magnus’ loft. The windows were smaller, looking over a park line with mature trees. It was a far cry from the penthouse city view he was expecting. His mouth tasted of cotton balls and ozone somehow. 

“Don’t try to move too fast. The disorientation will pass.” 

He knew that voice. One of Magnus’ friends. He couldn’t remember her name. Panic rose, crawling up the back of his head like the primordial drive it was. His hand twitched toward the holster on his thigh, fingers closing around his stele. It was still there, as was his seraph dagger and the weight of his bow and quiver on his back. 

“Why not disarm me?”

“You think I mean to hurt you?” 

Alec looked at the angle of the light outside and compared it to his internal clock. The night wasn’t as deep, the sky blushing with peach and a hint of gold that reflected on low clouds. There was dew on the cast-iron railings around the small porch, beside the window. “I’m missing _hours_ and I don’t know where I am. It’s not an unreasonable assumption?”

She chuckled in a dry sound, half laughter half bark. “If I meant to kill you, Shadowhunter, I wouldn’t have brought you to my home. I’m Catarina. You and I need to _talk_. Sit down.” 

Alec took in his surroundings properly as he turned away from the window. They were on the ground floor, the rooms were narrow and deep, with a staircase on the same wall as the door leading to a second floor. The house was warm, practical, old and decorated with wood accents. There were two chairs and a large ottoman made of quilted colorful fabric in the room where he stood so Alec gingerly lowered himself on the one closest to the window. He let his quiver run down his arm, leaning it with his bow against the chair in easy reach. The chair gave him a line of sight to the rest of the space, the small dining room that could sit four and the open concept, visibly more modern, kitchen. Catarina was there, pouring water into a teapot. 

“Let’s not waste each other’s time,” Catarina said as she brought over a tray with the tea. 

The cups were delicate bone china. It was very similar in form and pattern to the one his mother used. For a moment Alec felt very small and young, being taught proper etiquette. He rubbed at the back of his hands, where the memory of pain reminded him he had been very bad at these lessons. Like many things, it had been drilled into him with the bite of healing scabs. 

Catarina poured both of them a cup and settled on the chair opposite Alec. “I want to know what you’re _playing_ at.” 

“I’m not playing at anything. I don’t understand what you’re saying.” There was an accusation in her voice, laced through the simmering anger. Alec knew what it sounded like when he was being blamed for something. It made anger flare, low in his gut and creeping up. Alec pushed it down to ignore it before it could feed into a sense of growing panic. He was alone and while Jace would come for him if he reached through the bond, Alec didn’t think he needed backup. Not just yet. 

Catarina hummed, leaning back into her chair. She looked at Alec for a long time then sighed. “What do you know of Warlocks?” 

The question took Alec by surprise. He’d expected more accusations, not this almost… pedagogical question. As if she’d switched gears and decided he didn’t need a test as much as an assessment, trying to get to a baseline. Alec chose to go for brutal honesty. “I… I know that you have one demonic parent, which gives you your magic and immortality. That you have your own internal regulation but that it is a lot more centralized than the vampire and werewolves, though we’re not taught the details.” 

She smiled, a small thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Very good. Do you know why the Spiral Labyrinth is the governing body for _all_ Warlocks across the world?” 

“No.”

“Because there are so few of us.” Catarina paused one nail tapping against the side of the cup. “Vampire and werewolves can replenish their ranks. Shadowhunters encourage a high nativity and send their children on the front lines… But there are very few Warlocks born every year, and most of them don’t make it out of infancy.”

It sounded so cold when she said it like that. But he couldn’t argue the logic behind the words any more than he could deny how young his training had started. And Isabelle’s. And Max’s or Jace’s. _Sending children to war_. Alec crossed his arms, fingers digging into his bicep. Concentrate. This was about warlocks, not the many issues of the Clave. “Why?”

“You hunt demons most nights. Do you think congress with one of them would be a _pleasant_ thing?” 

Alec pictured all of his demon patrols: the slime, the bony spurs and claw, the dubious anatomy of some of them. He shook his head, tried to suppress a shudder.

“Exactly.” 

There was a faint praise in the word. Alec couldn’t help but straighten his spine a little when he heard it. He tried to disguise it by pulling down his shirt, smoothing out wrinkles. “Why are you telling me this?” 

He could feel the first warning signs of exhaustion catching up to him. He’d been pulling too many hours on the Lewis case, followed by the raid. He needed sleep before reporting back to the Institute. Or a way to reach for his stele in a way that wouldn’t be seen as a threat so that he could draw one more Stamina rune and pray on the Angel that he’d be able to run on those fumes for another twelve hours. 

Catarina shook her head. “So impatient. The point, Shadowhunter, is that Warlocks are born to this world shrouded in pain and trauma. If they are lucky and their human parent doesn’t kill them as children they are abandoned, to be found and raised by other Warlocks. The ones that are _kept_ grow up under the weight of that wound and that anger.”

“That’s… horrible.” Suddenly his own childhood, as strict and regimented as it had been, didn’t seem all that bad. Infanticide, at least, hadn’t been on the table. 

“It is. It also means we, as a people, have some unique pathologies. The one that is my concern today being Hanahaki.”

“I have no idea what that is.” Alec uncrossed his arms, somehow convinced that Catarina really didn’t want to attack him. He leant forward to pour himself a cup of tea. It was dark and smoky, nothing at all what he’d expected. 

“Obviously. Some Warlocks react strongly to Love, with a capital L. Infatuation and lust are safe, but Love devours them, because they crave it so much, and have craved it since their first breath. When that love isn’t returned, it turns inward and destructive. It is most often deadly.”

“Love kills you?” Alec tried to piece together the information he was being given but he was missing too much, the gaps in what he had been told glaring him in the face. It was stupid. Why wasn’t anything about the Downworlders taught to them? How could Shadowhunters protect whole races of people they knew nothing about? 

“Yes. It manifests as a plant. Usually it starts in a lung and grows there, until the afflicted starts having difficulty breathing and they will cough petals, instead of blood. Over time it migrates, claims both lungs. Suffocates. The stronger the warlock, the more it can consume.In extreme cases it will breach the skin and consume the entire body.” 

That sounded… disgusting and terrifying. And very very noticeable. And yet in all of his readings, in all of his classes he’d never even had a hint of anyone with plants growing in their lungs. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Magnus fell for you. Bad enough that it’s killing him.” Catarina took a long sip of her tea, watching for his reaction over the rim of the cup. 

“No.” Alec got up, knees jostling the tray where it was perched on the ottoman. “No he doesn’t.” He paced to the windows, restless. “He… he can’t. There’s nothing in it for him.”

A burst of worry jostled against his own emotions, from the parabatai bond. If Jace was worried, what was Alec sending through their link? Alec didn’t _know_ , didn’t have even words for what he was feeling. Emotions were a messy, ugly, tangle of things and he didn’t need them. Not when they threatened his mind like this, made his heart beat faster, his skin tingle. Not when the overwhelming reaction was fear. Fear was weakness.

“Alec,” Catarina said and her voice sounded very far away, drowned by the rush of his own blood. “What do you think love is?”

“Recognition,” he answered. The word came spilling out of his mouth, taking him by surprise. It’s not something that he had known that he knew but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. “Acknowledgement that you did good enough.” 

“Oh sweet child….” Catarina waited for Alec to face her. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by a soft pity. It was worse, so much worse. Alec didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, to see him as weak and _pitiful_. “It’s so much more,” she continued in that too-soft voice. “It’s being known, deeply, as you are and not as you want others to see you. And knowing the other. It’s opening yourself with trust and having the same trust given to you. Love makes life richer for its presence and asks nothing in return, no duty, no examination.”

Alec shook his head and closed his eyes. Tears pricked behind his lids, the words hitting some wounds he didn’t know were still open in his mind. His hand drifted to his parabatai rune, warm now with a soothing feeling. Jace, on instinct and despite the strain between them, trying to calm Alec down and offer support. 

He took several breaths, fighting to regain his center, the detachment and analytical core he’d spent all his life training for. Only then did he open his eyes.

“Can you heal it? The disease?”

“There are two known cures. Other than the obvious. The first is separation. If you’re very lucky the afflicted will fall out of love, they’ll forget. The wound will be slow to heal, but they’ll heal.” She put down her cup on the tray. For a second her glamour shivered, letting him glimpse the startling blue of her skin. Whatever she was about to say, she didn’t like it. “The second is ripping out the disease with magic and potions, like lancing a wound. However, that method has permanent repercussions.”

“Permanent?” 

“It destroys the part of the Warlock that can feel love. Dampens most of the rest of their emotions as well. So they’ll live, but they’ll be cold and robbed of joy.” She said it with… pity. 

It took a moment for Alec to process it. Not having to deal with emotions, being able to reach that clear mind sounded like everything he strived for. He remembered what she had said about warlock’s childhood. All of those memories and nothing to lighten the burden probably was enough to drive most people mad. Or to seek a way to end it. 

“And Magnus? If he stays away from me he’ll be fine, right?”

“Had we had this conversation a month, or even a week, ago? Maybe. I would have taken him out of the country. Peru maybe. Or Brazil. Let it run its course. But now… I am not sure.” 

“What… how… Can I do anything to help?” Alec could feel his heart beating in his throat. He wished he had a real target, something he could shoot an arrow into and solve. He could see the shape of the conclusion Catarina was trying to get him to reach and he didn’t want to make the final leap, cross that final gap. 

Catarina looked at him with a tilt of her head and sighed. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

“What, you think I made him sick on _purpose_?” A sound. The thin, frail, teacup hitting the carpet and cracking as his fingers turned numb. His blood ran cold. Had he? Had his enjoyment of Magnus’ attention, of the strange flush that filled him when they spoke, of the _forbidden_ and impossible things he’d dream of when went to bed… Was he killing Magnus? 

She gestured for Alec to sit back down. “You know Camille and Magnus used to be together?”

“No. But I suspected.” 

She nodded. “They shared many years, both of them immortal so Magnus didn’t have to face losing her to time. She would… play with him. Withdraw her affection and turn cold, until he was weak from the lack of oxygen and coughing petals. Then she’d shower him with affection and nurse him back to health. Over and over, until he feared making her angry again. She nearly broke him and when he had warped himself into the shape she wanted, she left.”

“The _bitch_.” Alec was intimately familiar with that type of manipulation. It never stopped hurting, was the insidiousness of it. 

“No argument from me there,” Catarina winked at him. 

“But he survived?” Alec asked, trying to focus himself back on facts. Facts were easier. Fact: Magnus was still alive. That had to count for something. 

“He was out of it for nearly a year, delirious.” She settled in her chair, looking out of the window instead of Alec. Whatever Catarina was seeing it was a long time ago and very far away. Walking down her memory. “When he got through he had closed himself off from feeling anything, for anyone.”

“You cured him.” He hadn’t meant it as an accusation. His voice did it for him, harder and rougher around the words. 

“No. He cured _himself_.” She put the emphasis on that last word. Magnus had done it, and no one else. 

“And you think I was doing the same thing.” It was his turn to slump in the chair. He was exhausted. He’d been in fights that took less out of him. Because she wasn’t wrong, it had to have been his fault. 

“I thought so, yes. I can see it’s not the case now.” She reached to squeeze his hand. 

The touch was warm and gentle, reassuring him. Forgiving him. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved her wrath and punishment.

“What do I do?” Alec whispered. 

“Frankly? I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. If we’re _lucky_ Magnus can recover on his own, eventually.” If she kept him away from Alec, she meant. If Alec never saw him again, if he was never on the receiving end of one of his soft smiles or a wink. 

“If not…”

“If not I will stand by his side, hold his hand, and grieve for one more friend.” 

There was nothing but resignation now in Catarina’s voice. How many ghosts did she carry, Alec wondered. How many of them had been killed by his people, in the war or in the uprising?

“You said there were two cures beyond the obvious. What’s obvious?” 

“Being loved in return, Alec.” She stared into his eyes as she repeated it. “Being _loved_.”

“Oh.” 


	6. I can’t help but…

“How about this blue, Alec?” 

Izzy turned to him with a fabric sample, shifting it so that it would catch the light.

"Sure. Whatever" It would be a good colour for the hand towels. He didn't know why it mattered. None of it mattered. 

His brain kept going back to the conversation with Catarina in the dawn. It had reframed the last few months in a way that Alec didn’t know how to deal with. 

"Aw come on big brother. This is your wedding. You gotta make some of the choices."

Alec groaned. "The cream plates. No crystal." The smile that got out of Izzy was almost reward enough. Going through the motions felt hollow, the same way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Izzy grabbed his arm and moved him away from the others, carving privacy out of the collective living of the Institute. She was good at that, even when they were all always on top of each other, involved in each other’s businesses by default. Everyone knew Izzy ran on the wild side, but she gave as good as she got. There were many periods of leave without authorizations that she’d covered over the years, beyond their sibling’s. 

“What’s up with you Hermano?” 

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” 

Her face let him know that she wasn’t buying it. “I’m not buying it,” said the rest of her just after. She crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head in that way that let him know he wasn’t gonna be able to wiggle out of this conversation. 

“What do you want me to say, Izzy? That I’m not thrilled about our parents being part of a genocidal cult? That they lied to us about it and that their mistakes is what we’ve been paying for our entire lives? That the only chance for any of us, Max included, to even dream about holding on to a career was them putting me up on the meat market for a political marriage? No, I’m not exactly _thrilled_.” 

Isabelle dropped her guarded expression to wrap Alec in a hug, nestled under his chin. “But at least now you’re being honest,” she said. “Have you spoken to Jace yet?”

Alec wrapped his arms around his stubborn, fierce, amazing little sister. He was so proud of her. 

“Jace? No. Why do I need to talk to him?” He reached for the bond but it was the same as it’d been for weeks. Exhaustion and sadness, mostly. 

“He’s your parabatai. If anyone can understand you it’s him.”

“He’s been busy. Especially with the whole thing about how Clary turned out to be his sister. He doesn’t have time for me.” 

“Bullshit.” Izzy hissed. “You both are miserable and you’ve been planning your wedding like building your own funeral pyre.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Alec if you’re not sure, if this isn’t what you want... you know I’ll back you, right?”

“I don’t know Izzy. I don’t know what I want. But it wouldn’t be fair to Lydia. Especially since you know. I made her lose face in front of the Inquisitor. She was really hoping to make her mark in that case and I destroyed it.” He let go of Izzy, backing until he hit the wall and sinking down to the floor.

“I remember it being a team effort.” She took a spot on the floor on the opposite side of the corridor, not questioning the choice made there. He could have taken this to his room, her room, an office. Anywhere but in the open. Alec was so tired of hiding. Let whoever wanted to come snoop see him, exhausted and vulnerable.

For the first time in many years, Alec felt very young. 

“Ok, _we_ destroyed the case,” he conceded. “Going against her direct orders.”

“It was the right thing to do. And you know it.” 

“Was it though?”

“Of course it was. Meliorn didn’t deserve to be tortured for something he didn’t do. Not to mention the damage it would have done to the Accords and our relationship with the Seelies. You’re the reason they started talking to us again. That they might not side with Valentine, if it comes to war.” 

Alec shrugged. Who knew? Certainly not him. 

“What did Magnus say?” Izzy asked. Her voice was soft, but there was a spark in her eye, her smile. A hint of teasing.

“I didn’t tell him,” Alec answered.

“What? Why?”

He hit his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. There was a spider web high on the wall, forgotten by whoever was on cleaning duty. It swayed in a breeze from the heating system, giving him something to focus on that wasn’t the disappointment in Izzy’s sputtered questions. “After I asked Lydia to marry me, I figured it wouldn’t be… proper. That I needed to focus. On duty and the job.” On pushing back down his mind the realization that he absolutely wanted to be a father and have kids. And that he at the same time absolutely didn’t want to actually _father_ any. That he missed his conversations with Magnus, that it _ached_ not to talk to him before patrols or after, on his day off. 

“Being miserable isn’t fair to you. It’s your life too Alec”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look down from his spider friend. He didn’t want to see the pity in Izzy’s eyes.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. There were more choices to make, adjustment to his suit, Clave envoys to greet. A hundred different things pulling at Alec’s attention and energy. By the time Izzy came to fetch him for his “bachelor party” — whatever that was — he was glad for the excuse to be whisked away. He could feel the stamina rune burning out and there was probably more coffee in his veins than blood. 

The party turns out to be a reception room, empty but for music and ambient lights and the view of the city. And Jace. Jace who looked pale and underslept himself, but who was _there_. Jace looked small and lost and younger than he had in years, without the cocky smile and with his hair down in his eyes.

Alec wrapped him into a hug and didn’t let go until his brother hitched a sob, relaxing at last. They sat down on a bench, their back to the wall and facing the empty room. Them versus the world, always. Neither of them knew how to talk, now that time had been made for it, carved out of their duties by the unstoppable force of Isabelle’s will

“I kissed her,” Jace said when he broke the silence, staring at the floor between his feet. 

The self-hatred roiled within him and through the bound and how had Alec not seen it before? Jace had been emotionally off balance for weeks now, only putting up a mask for the others. Alec should have been there for him, supported him. He hummed in what he hoped was a neutral tone, to encourage Jace to continue speaking. Izzy was better at these things, but he used to not entirely suck, back when they all had been kids. Alec realized he wanted some of that back. To be a sanctuary, for his siblings, a rock they could climb to and survive their storms. 

“It's worse, I wanted her.” A pause. The emotions in the bound shifted, a mix of pain and confusion tainted with transient joy. “I was falling in _love_. I must be sick or something. I don't know.” 

“No,” Alec answered automatically. What Jace was saying, the emotions he was feeling… he knew them. He hadn’t had words to name them, before now. It was the fluttery feeling that stole his voice around Magnus. Everything he’d compromised by making Magnus sick. Had he done this to Jace? Contaminated him with his own broken, tainted, emotions? 

“Situation's just... It's confusing. And trust me, I know.” Alex stopped talking, grateful when Jace didn’t press for it. How had his life gotten to be such a mess, so fast? He had a plan, a map for his life but he felt now that all of it was gone and had left him adrift. “Anyway. Would you be my suggenes and give me away tomorrow?”

“If that’s what you want, I’d be honoured.”

“I don’t know. But it’s too late to back away now, isn’t it?” He looked sideways at his brother, seeing if he was going to recoil at the admission. 

“I don’t know. Is it?” Jace leaned to jostle Alec’s shoulder. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re going to be okay.” Alec didn’t know if he was going to be fine. He had only one way to find out and that was living with his choices, in a world where he wasn’t allowed to speak to Magnus ever again. 

“Good. Because my life has sucked lately.” 

The next morning came too early. Alec had managed to grab maybe an hour or two of sleep, between his “party” and laying in bed tossing and turning. It felt unnatural to be getting up this early, showered and dressed as the sun was high in the sky. And yet by the time night fell and he stood in front of the chapel, he felt like the day had blinked away. Guests filed in, gathered in small groups, sitting down in assigned chairs, the arrangements being something he remembered Mother had gotten involved with. 

“You’ve made me so proud,” Maryse said as she adjusted the shawl collar of his suit jacket. The words had the opposite of their intended effect. They settled in Alec’s gut like a leaden weight. He was doing right by his family, cementing a political alliance to make sure the control of New York wasn’t taken from the Lightwoods. It consolidated power that had started to slip from their fingers, secured a future for Max… and yet it didn’t feel right, didn’t feel enough. Why did he have to go to that length for her to express pride in him. Why was _he_ never enough? 

The Silent Brother called everyone to attention and Izzy started walking down the aisle. The dress she wore was new, and she would have been beautiful if she also didn’t look like she was marching to his funeral. It echoed the resigned stoicness he could feel from Jace. Neither of them were happy with the idea of him getting married. They were supportive, but it wasn’t the same.

Lydia was beautiful. A vision in crystal and cream and when she smiled at him Alec dared to relax a fraction. They would work great as a team. 

He almost had himself convinced when the doors banged open. Lydia froze, stele above his wrist but not yet making contact. 

Magnus walked into the chapel, almost charging as if he’d expected to have to muscle his way in. He was dressed in a black suit that practically shimmered with the candles lit for the ceremony. Even his skin shone from what he could see of his neck and his hands. Magnus’ eyes were kohl-lined and shone with a strange pain, but he held his chin high and proud, staring at Alec. 

Magnus stopped, about halfway down the aisle, unperturbed by Maryse’s attempt to chase him out. Alec noted he’d never seen Mother fall silent that easily. There was a shimmer around Magnus. Alec cocked his head in curiosity. It was Magnus’ glamour, shifting, parting so that Alec could truly see him. Suddenly, it wasn’t sparkles or glitter on his suit and skin. It was a patchwork of long silky petals in vibrant colours. They overlapped, making it hard to see where one started or finished, almost like they’d been quilted into some impossible fabric... There were so many that Alec couldn’t quite be sure what colour the suit had been originally, or even if there had been one there at all. The petal covered all of Magnus’ skin, except his face. 

It was a statement that didn’t need words. Magnus was here instead of wherever Catarina had planned to whisk him away. Asking for a choice, but refusing to make demands. 

Alec knew what his answer was before he turned back to Lydia. He saw in her eyes that she knew too. She raised a hand to his cheek and forced a smile that no longer reached her eyes. “You deserve to be happy. Go. I’ll be fine.” 

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? That he deserved to be happy? Even if people were disappointed, if they took away their _recognition_ , he could be happy? That this fear that he felt wasn’t him, that he existed outside of this dread and would exist still once he’d walked through it. 

The first step was the hardest, down the dais and facing the crowd. The second was easier, like a confirmation. That he wanted this, had wanted it for weeks, hadn’t known what he was feeling. Not until a Warlock had looked at him with pity over tea and until Jace had named his own tangle of emotion. Alec didn’t know if a relationship could work with Magnus. He didn’t know if he could make any relationship work, at all.

But by the Angel he wanted it. Wanted to let himself fall and trust that Magnus would catch him.

That certainty buoyed him. Enough to really stand up to his mother and silence her objections. Until he was standing in front of Magnus, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. And, before his anxiety and doubts could come back, he grabbed the lapels’ of Magnus suit and kissed him.

Alec had been told that kissing was good, but it’s not something he’d experienced. When his lips met Magnus’ he knew why people were so into it. Magnus’ lips were soft and warm and he could feel his magic running along his skin leaving goosebumps behind. Alec never wanted to stop.

They pulled away from breath and Magnus made a small pained noise. It was the only warning Alec had, which was more than anyone else in the room. The magic that had been bouncing between them gathered on Magnus and then burst outward, destroying the flowers that were on him, in him, all around them. Destroying and transforming them into fine diamond dust, coating furniture, clothes, people. There was some on the stained glass and on the robes of Brother Jeremiah. Alec cracked an eye open to access the situation and closed it again, leaning back to claim a second kiss.

He would deal with clean-up later. Glitter was bound to be messier than a broken nose. But he was a Lightwood, he’d deal with the consequences. 


End file.
